Berlin miscellany

This is where I’m sitting right now. It’s a part of my new apartment I call The Think Zone.

Well, I’m back in Berlin. Clearly I’m jaded by this city. I mean, stuff happens that would weird out most normal people but I’m just like “whatever.”

Like, today outside our office building about 30 people in costumes made of elaborate white cardboard and marker-painted toilet paper danced up the street following a giant gray papier maché mammal (I think it was a rat). The whole assemblage was following a flatbed trunk on which a band was playing. The singer, in a nasal tone, sneered:

They were handing out flyers but we didn’t pick one up and consequently have no idea what was going on. Which is par for the course in Berlin.

The best case scenario for my friend L—‘s love life if she were to meet a single dad

Okay, here’s the dude: he’s a mildly famous golf instructor who coached all the recent greats. He’s fit and tanned from spending so much time outside, and for some reason he’s British.

He married at the end of high school because he accidentally knocked up his girlfriend and decided it was the right thing to do even though all his friends told him the girl was trouble. Four years down the road he caught her having an affair with Tiger Woods, and she told him to “fuck off” and ran away to Vegas leaving him the kid.

He’s got a good heart but it’s a little broken, and though he’s a bit shy he has a strong sense of justice and he’s coureous to the point of chivalry (especially thanks to his British-ism). Did I mention he’s super rich like a doctor or lawyer, but because he doesn’t work long hours because his clients pay him so well and he doesn’t really care for money? He is.

And his kid is super charming though a little bit goofy.

Anyway, about 9 months into your relationship with him his ex-wife will come back and say she didn’t mean to tell him to fuck off, and then there will be some comi-tragic situations where you attempt to woo him away from his ex before it is revealed that he wasn’t planning on going back to that cheating bitch at all and you are the love of his life and, damnit, you don’t have to change anything about yourself because he loves you.

You will be married at the Banff Springs golf course on the 9th hole and Tiger Woods won’t return the ex’s phonecalls, and she gets addicted to crack (though this is only implied).

I have a terrible head cold

It’s not very fun but it gives me an excuse to not assemble the last of my Ikea furniture (for now).